


Phase

by coprolite_blend



Series: Sleep of Reason Series [3]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bones will burst a vein, Can't stop the drama and angst, Kid Fic, Spock has a headache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coprolite_blend/pseuds/coprolite_blend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3 of <i>Sleep of Reason</i> Series.</p><p>The Jugglers throw the <i>Enterprise</i> another banquet, Jim sulks and Spock develops a headache for the first time, without suffering from any sort of trauma beforehand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phase

**Author's Note:**

> Implied Spock/Uhura; Past Spock/Others
> 
>  **Prompt:** Kidfic - first injury

* * *

  
Soft, gentle music fills the air like wind chimes swaying to a calm breeze.

The grand hall of the _Mekh’iem_ palace is an enormous room, located at the topmost level. It is highly decorated with rich colorful paintings, white-marbled walls and columns, and floating spherical devices they call baubles, which supplies the golden illumination. The stained windows are equally large, all made of transparent aluminum - one of the materials the Federation trade in exchange for the benarium crystals acquired in Vaita. There are balconies as well, which provide a great view of the large ocean surrounding the island resident.

The highlight of the grand hall, however, is perhaps its clear ceiling. The material is similar to that of the windows, but the Jugglers have modified it to their liking. Like a magnifying glass with a magnification of approximately fifty times, it provides the viewers of the night sky, bluish like their waters, but is filled with stars.

It is nighttime here in Vaita, but the ship’s time is zero-eight-eighteen hours.

“Are you quite finished, Doctor?” Spock inquires patiently, standing by the long banquet table. It is filled with familiar Federation foods, and most are vegetable-based.

Doctor McCoy grunts. “Shut your trap. I’ll be done when I get done.”

“I was merely in-”

“I said, zip it, Spock,” the doctor cuts as he continues his ministrations. “This will be a lot faster if you’re not breathing down on my damn neck.”

“Doctor-”

“Will you just shut up?” McCoy scolds, turning to face the Vulcan Commander. He takes a deep breath. “Look, just give Jim some milk for the mean time, alright? I have to make sure he doesn’t swell like a damn puffer fish or die when he eats one of these because of his stupid allergies. And it’s a fucking long table, Spock. I haven’t even checked a quarter of these foods. Give me a damn time to do my damn job.”

True, yet, “The Captain has expressed his dislike of the liquid seven-point-one minutes ago. He is becoming more restless as seconds pass.”

“So entertain him for now,” the doctor counters, returning his tricorder over the purple jelly plate. “Take him to see those freakishly big jellyfish in the corner. Go. Shoo.”

Spock raises an eyebrow at the doctor’s dismissal. Did he just…? Never mind. If he were to argue more with McCoy, the longer the doctor will distinguish which foods are palatable for the Captain. Quietly, Spock arranges the squirming Jim in his arms and heeds the doctor’s advice.

He takes him to the corner, in front of a large tank. Astoundingly, it works; Jim stops his wriggling. The child’s eyes go wide in wonder as he taps the glass with his small hand. “Fis, Po! Fis!”

The Vulcan doesn’t even bother to correct him, as he previously has. At the age of two (three in the next zero-point-one-six hours), the Captain should have been able to speak complete sentences and able to enunciate simple Standard words. Some of the articles he’s read stated that six percent of human children are speech-delayed, and Jim appears to belong to that percentage. Doctor McCoy has assured him that Jim’s developments are within normalcy. Spock decides to trust the Chief Medical Officer since Jim’s able to comprehend simple Standard words.

Currently, the Captain is dressed in a smaller fashion of Starfleet uniform. Spock has wanted to clothe Jim with an imitation of his formal dress, but the child has thrown a tantrum and cried. Left with no other alternative, he’s donned him with black cotton shirt, black slacks and a pair of black boots - all a half size bigger to accommodate his expected aging.

Jim gives him an open-mouthed smile. “Po!”

Spock slowly brushes Jim’s long blond fringes to the side, resting his palm over his cheek; the child leans to his hand. It’s all right to touch Jim with his hand like this, as he’s wearing a pair of black neoprene gloves. Spock has known the Captain to be a tactile person, but only if Jim’s the one who initiates the contact. He’s noticed that Jim also slightly flinches whenever someone touches him without his knowledge. It puzzles the Vulcan to no end, but he doesn’t dwell upon it. In the least, with the circumstances at present, the Captain has begun to allow a few others to care for him for a short period, namely: Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Sulu, Lieutenant-Commander Scott and Ensign Chekov.

“Tee, Po. Wa tee,” states Jim, looking at him with a pout.

Spock glances to the direction of Doctor McCoy, who remains unfinished with the inspection. “In a while, James.”

“Tee~e!”

“James,” Spock gently reprimands. “Patience.”

The child’s lower lip quivers and his blue eyes are threatening to spill tears.

Spock rests his forehead against him, letting out a small sigh. “Please wait awhile longer,” he whispers. “You will have your treat then. I promise you.”

Jim shifts and rests his cheek on Spock’s shoulder, head facing away. The Vulcan can only stroke Jim’s back to placate him, and express his silent apologies as the toddler sulks.

A Juggler then arrives and greets them with a low, deep bow. “Commander Spock, yes? The Lady Liadlaw awaits your presence in the balcony.”

Spock shakes his head, turning to the direction indicated by the Lady’s subject when two armored guards suddenly blocks his path.

The same subject supplies an explanation. “Alone, Commander.”

“Clarify,” Spock commands with an authoritative tone, shifting his body so that Jim’s back is not facing the armed guards.

“The Lady Liadlaw only wishes to speak with you,” the subject says. “And only with you.”

He studies them for a moment, and then says, “I will meet her shortly.” The subject curtsies and leaves with the guards.

Spock sweeps his eyes around the hall, searching through the crowd. He spots Lieutenant-Commander Scott laughing by the liquor fountain with five other officers. No, not him. Doctor McCoy is still inspecting the banquet table and Lieutenant Sulu is nowhere to be found. Then, he sees Ensign Chekov talking merrily to Security Officer Tiamat. He decidedly walks towards the pair.

“Sir,” Ensign Chekov straightens when he sees Spock approaching.

“I shall entrust you with the Captain for a short time,” the Vulcan commands. “He is not to ingest any form of cuisine and beverages, whether he demands it or not, without Doctor McCoy’s approval. Your attention must be fully focused on him. Is that understood, Ensign?”

Under his curly top, the Ensign beams. “Yes, Sir,” he says, handing his drink to a surprised Ensign Tiamat, almost spilling its fill.

Spock places his lips near Jim’s ear and whispers, “I will soon return, James.” Jim whips his head to stare at him, puzzled. “Ensign Chekov shall watch you.”

“I vill guard you vith my life, Keptin!” exclaims the teen enthusiastically.

Jim looks at the Ensign, then at Spock and back to Chekov. Reluctantly, the toddler angles his upper half towards Chekov, and Spock surrenders him to the younger man’s arms.

Then, Spock proceeds to the Lady Liadlaw’s whereabouts, not detecting a set of blue eyes, and a pair of dark ones following his form.

* * *

  
He finds her in the indicated balcony, sitting elegantly - dangerously - on the thin marbled baluster. She faces the sky, her long, glimmering red gown streaming on the floor as her braided silver hair. The moons emphasize the color of her skin, making it appear as though it is aglow.

There is an ethereal element in the sight before him. Like those centuries-old paintings he’s seen in museums of Earth and the images of fairy tales his mother has had projected to his mind when he was a child. The Lady Liadlaw would be equivalent to a princess longing for an unnamed lover or monarch to rescue her from captivity.

Spock closes his eyes and breathes the cool air. How illogical. This is no make-believe; it is real.

Watching the _Mekh’iem_ , he ponders whether to make his presence known or not. The statistical probability of her falling down to her death is quite high if he were to give her a fright.

“Tranquil, is it not, Spock?” she says, still looking at the night sky.

He follows her gaze to the three moons present. The middle one is full, while the other two on both ends of the arc are in wane and wax, respectively.

Stepping close to the baluster, one-point-three meters from her, Spock says, “Indeed.”

The Lady Liadlaw chuckles melodiously. “It greatly reminds me of the nights I’ve spent in Risa.”

“Vaita shares similar characteristics to the planet,” says Spock. “As your species have gained technological advances, your people have long since controlled the dismal weather of Vaita and calmed the regular seismic activities, thus making the lands habitable for terrestrial plant life. This island, this palace was built to accommodate guests who cannot stay underwater for so long without breathing tanks, as most species of the Federation.”

“Correct.” She regards him with a knowing gaze. “But that was not what I’ve meant, Spock.”

Flashes of a hand running over flaked blue skin, red walls, kisses, moans, soft mattress and tangled sheets and limbs come through Spock’s mind.

“I am aware, Lady Liadlaw,” Spock answer, fully composed, not even a jerk of a muscle.

She quietly laughs again. “I’m certain you are, _Muot_.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. “I request that you cease to address me such. Your reasons for summon, Lady Liadlaw. Surely, it is not to muse over past affairs.”

“Of course, Spock,” concedes the Lady Liadlaw, still smiling. “We spoke of the matters of confidentiality regarding my ability to manipulate a being’s time.”

“Yes. You also revealed that apoptosis is your species’ only option when captured.”

“We have encountered several beings from the known universe,” she begins. “Others we’ve met here in Vaita, or visiting other planets. After the destruction of your homeworld, many _Mekh’iem_ has developed fear of contact from others, immediately restricting the entry of outsiders in our planet. You understand, yes?”

Spock silently shakes his head in acceptance.

“Yet we still trade our crystals to the Federation for the alliance to remain,” she continues with a hint of remorse. “It is also an indication that if dire times come, the Federation will aid us.”

“I assure you, Lady Liadlaw, Starfleet will give your species protection if necessary.”

“ _Nemaiyo_ ,” she says, horizontally extending her long arm towards him. Spock does the same, his gloved-palm holding the Juggler’s in a loose clasp. “Your ship, the _Enterprise_ ; I specifically requested the starship to which you serve to facilitate the renewal of the contract.”

Spock cannot contain his perplexity. “For what reason?”

“I trust you, Spock,” the Juggler states. “And I will believe anything you tell me.”

“Anything is a dangerous word, Lady Liadlaw,” he warns with narrowed eyes.

“Indeed.” She puts her feet down the floor and retracts her hand from the hold. “Enjoy the feast, Spock. It is a pleasure to see you once again.”

Spock leans forward, closing his eyes as he permits her to kiss his forehead and both his cheeks. The Lady Liadlaw departs whilst Spock remains in the balcony, confused.

Her declaration has resembled a farewell, as though they will never to meet again. Spock can only deduce, based on their conversation, that she harbors secrets with regards to the safety of her planet. Still, if that were truly the case, she would have told him.

Filing the event to the back of his mind, Spock decides to return to his Captain. It worries him, being away from the child for too long. He’s only taken one step forward when his eyes meet Lieutenant Uhura’s, who is standing by the balcony’s entrance.

* * *

  
Lieutenant Nyota Uhura takes a sip from her glass of _lambanog_ as she ambles to Spock’s side, facing the ocean. “Nice night, huh.”

Out of reflex, Spock elevates one brow, watching the lieutenant. “Yes.” She has her hair tied differently for this occasion. Instead of the usual high-sweep fashion, she has it in a bun.

“What were you two talking about?”

“Matters surrounding the signed contract,” he answers, obliquely and carefully.

One-point-two-eight minutes pass in silence.

Spock, assuming that the conversation is over, excuses himself. “If that is all, Lieutenant, I must search for the Captain.”

Then she speaks, “Kirk’s with Pavel and Sulu.” The Vulcan dips his head in silent gratitude before moving towards the exit, but Uhura grabs his arm. “We need to talk, Spock.”

“We may speak at a later time, Lieutenant,” he says, masking the haste in his tone. “The Captain-”

“Did you think,” she interrupts sharply, “that I don’t know what the first gesture you exchanged means to the Jugglers? I’m not an idiot, Spock.”

Her irritation is seeping through him. “Far from it, Lieutenant. The gesture was to convey trust between two beings. Offering one’s hand denotes surrender of whole essence, by placing one’s palm beneath the other’s signifies acceptance.”

“It is also a pledge of loyalty,” she says. “If words get out that you’ve taken an oath to the Jugglers, you’d be viewed as a traitor.”

Ah, now he understands. “Only if there is skin contact between the exchange, Lieutenant,” corrects Spock. “Both the Lady Liadlaw and I are wearing glo-”

Glasses break, followed by loud yelps and then stunned silence.

For a second, Spock and Uhura look at each other in surprise. Then, they instantly rush back into the grand hall, their discussion forgotten as they go through the gathered crowd. Finally reaching the center of the cluster, Spock stops short, stunned.

There, the Captain stands surrounded by glass fragments on his feet. In his hand, he is gripping a shard, red blood flowing down.

“I want Spock now!” he screams in full sentence. “I want my Spock!”

Two, three _Enterprise_ officers attempt to catch Jim off guard, but Spock immediately stops them with a stern look. When they retreat, the Vulcan steps forward. “I am here, James.” Jim turns and Spock, again, finds himself surprised of the conviction flashing in the child’s tearful eyes.

Dropping the glass, Jim runs towards him. Spock catches him in an embrace, immediately standing as soon as he has him within his hold as Jim buries his head at the crook of Spock’s neck, barely audibly crying his words between the sobs and sniffles. But to Spock, he can clearly understand his pleas.

Spock signals Lieutenant Uhura to take care of the matters and to apologize to the Jugglers for the disruption as he marches passed her and the bystanders, rubbing Jim’s back soothingly. The Lady Liadlaw is also amongst the crowd, but she and the other Jugglers simply observe, appearing to have a comprehension of what has happened.

“Spock,” calls Doctor McCoy as he jogs to him, worried. “Here.” The Vulcan accepts the medical kit and the doctor watches them leave.

Spock goes out of the grand hall, into the passageway, where he places the sobbing Jim down on the floor. Resting on one knee, he takes a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wipes the child’s tears. “Blow your nose.” Jim obeys. Spock puts the damp cloth down on the floor before opening the kit.

He takes Jim’s injured hand into his, examining its extent. There are three long laceration marks on the small palm, to which two runs along the four fingers. All are not too deep and he can see no shard imbedded in the cuts. In all honesty, he cannot fathom why Jim has done what he did. But that is for a later time to investigate. He will have to question Ensign Chekov and others who were present during the occurrence. As at this moment, his focus is on Jim.

Spock begins his work in silence, cleaning cuts first, before he applies slight pressure to stop the bleeding from the deepest gash. As the clotting continues, Spock uses the dermal regenerator.

“Spock,” Jim whispers.

The Vulcan doesn’t say a word, waiting for Jim to express whatever he wishes to.

“P-please don’t l-leave me a-again,” the child stutters. “I…” He drops his eyes down the floor and stays muted.

Finally the wounds are closed, although the skin is still tender, Spock puts the equipment back into the kit, assembles it with one hand while the other remains holding Jim’s. He then looks at the child and says, “I will not, James.”

Jim doesn’t meet his eyes. “But y-you will.”

“I will not,” Spock reiterates as he inclines his head so he can look at Jim’s eyes. “Do you not believe me?”

There is hesitance, that much Spock can see, and after a while Jim slowly nods. “Y-you will still.”

“James,” Spock almost sighs, lightly placing his other hand on the child’s cheek and moving it to face him. “I apologize. You have my promise that I will never abandon you.”

Jim studies him for several moments before he removes his hand from Spock and puts his arms around the Vulcan in an embrace; Spock returns the motion.

“I want treat,” Jim mutters, making the Vulcan hang his head.  



End file.
